


Beginning of the End

by AtropaAzraelle (Polyoxyethylene)



Series: Of Walls and Nerds [21]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Apocalypse, M/M, Prompto being awesome, low on romance, post chapter thirteen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-24 16:20:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polyoxyethylene/pseuds/AtropaAzraelle
Summary: Noct has been taken into the Crystal, which leaves his three friends trapped in Gralea, and unsure of what's supposed to happen next.





	1. Chapter One: Aftermath

“So,” Prompto's voice punctured the still air, and Ignis was glad of the intrusion into the silence, “what now?”

He heard Gladio's movement, the shift of leather trousers as he changed position. Gladio sighed, and said nothing.

“We return to Lucis,” Ignis said, when it was clear Gladio had nothing to contribute.

There was a noise, a creak of leather and the strain of springs in a cheap dormitory mattress. “We can't leave Noct,” Gladio said, indignation and argument already building in his tone.

“Noct,” Ignis replied, putting his foot down and quelling any argument before it even began, “is wherever the Crystal has taken him. We are currently in a rabbit warren of a laboratory complex that is crawling with malfunctioning MTs and daemons, and our supplies will run out before they do. Staying here is suicide.”

“But what if Noct,” came a strained voice, trying to hold back on tears for what must have been the third time since they'd walked away from the Crystal chamber, “comes out of there tomorrow? Or next week? We wouldn't be here,” Prompto began, his resolve faltering like the strength in his voice.

“You said the Crystal had gone dark, as if it was dormant,” Ignis replied. “I believe it may be a number of months before Noct comes back to us.”

“But when he does,” Prompto pressed, an urgency in his tone.

“If we can return to Lucis, contact Aranea, and Cor, Dave, and the other hunters, we can put an expedition together to retrieve the Crystal and bring Noct back to somewhere safe.”

There was a considered and agreeable murmur from Gladio. “I can deal with that plan,” he said.

“What if Noct comes back in the meantime, before we get back here?” Prompto asked. Ignis's heart went out to him. He understood Prompto's concerns, he truly did. He didn't like the idea of walking away from Noct now any more than Prompto did; it niggled in the back of his mind, that possibility, that what if, what if he _did_ come back while they were gone, and was left alone here in Gralea with the daemons?

“We'll leave him a way to contact us,” Ignis asserted. “He made it almost all the way to you, on his own, without a weapon,” Ignis said, reassuring himself as much as the others, “he could hold out here for a few days while we get to him.”

“We'll leave him some food, water,” Gladio murmured, his voice thoughtful, “stuff that'll keep, in case it's a while. We're gonna get back here as soon as we can.”

Ignis could feel the pressure of Gladio's gaze on him, and he nodded. “Our phones don't work here, but there is a radio signal. If we can boost that signal, so that it would reach Lucis, we could monitor it from as far as Caem, and leave instructions.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed, after a thoughtful silence, but there was a note of relief that Ignis was glad to hear. “We can find where that emergency broadcast is coming from and use that setup,” he said, “I can probably do something to extend the signal's range.”

Ignis murmured, thoughtfully, “And in so doing, if we can make contact with Altissia we may be able to get a lift out of here. It would be safer than trying to follow the train tracks.” Not only had the tracks been infested with daemons, but there was also the small matter of Ghorovas Rift, and the Glacian's corpse affecting the climate in the area. It would be next to impassable for three of them on foot. It was unlikely that Biggs and Wedge had lingered overlong after their hurried departure in the Regalia; the best case scenario on that front was that they and the train had retreated to a safe distance and may be able to return for them if they could get a message out.

“Not Tenebrae?” Prompto asked.

“The evacuation there should be complete by now,” Ignis said, quietly. “It's unreasonable to expect there would be anyone there to hear us.” There was a dim flicker of hope that Aranea would have returned there after evacuating the civilians, to wait for word on them, and her two men, but Ignis would prefer not to pin all their hopes on that slim chance. “There may still be people at Cartanica, but there may not be anyone there that can assist us. Altissia at least would be able to pass a message to Lucis, if nought else.”

“Right,” Prompto said. He hadn't been with them when they'd reached Tenebrae; Ardyn's machinations had seen to that. After being so excited to finally be able to visit the home of Lady Lunafreya he'd been denied the opportunity, but, in Ignis's view, it was likely for the best. He hadn't seen the ancestral home of the Nox Fleuret family in flames, but he'd been able to smell it, and hear the despair in the populace. Prompto was a sensitive soul, and after all they'd seen and been through, especially what he'd been through at Ardyn's hands, he didn't need more pain weighing on him.

“So we go to work on that radio signal tomorrow,” Gladio said, their plan of action decided.

“In the meantime,” Ignis agreed, “we should all get some rest. We're going to need our strength.”

The dormitories in Gralea had provided an unexpected respite. They were too well lit for the daemons to venture near them, and the MTs ignored them. They'd rested for the night, or what they had presumed was night, after finding Prompto, giving them chance to tend his wounds and stricken feelings, and it was to the same one that they'd returned when Noct had been swallowed by the Crystal.

Ignis hadn't seen it, but he'd heard the cries of Gladio and Prompto, heard the swing of Gladio's sword, heard the gunshot from Prompto and the fall of a body. Then he'd heard Ardyn's words, as he'd stood once more, passing by Ignis in a breath of air that stank of brimstone, “Tell him I'll be waiting, in Insomnia.”

They'd lingered, unsure of what to do. There was no evidence of Noct, not a whisper, not a sound, and when Gladio had said that the Crystal was dark, as if it was just stone, Prompto had broken down at last. “He can't be dead. He can't?” It had been a question, and Ignis had felt it directed at himself, had felt Gladio's presence, his heavy breath and pain nearby, and Ignis had swallowed his own so that he could _think_.

Noct was the Chosen King. There was an old prophecy. The reason the Lucis Caelum line had borne the ring and protected the Crystal for those millennia was because the chosen king would be born to their line, and he alone would be able to rid the world of the starscourge once and for all. The Crystal and the ring were needed to complete the task.

It was Gladio that had confirmed, in the still of night after he'd returned from his trial with Gilgamesh, that the mythical swordman of legend had called Noct the _last_ King of Lucis. There had been rumours, back before they'd left Insomnia, back before all had gone to hell, that Noct was the prophesied King. Ignis had dismissed the rumour back then. Noctis was Noctis, shy, a little cheeky, somewhat undisciplined, but deeply caring even if he never knew how to show it. It seemed such an inconceivably large burden to place on such slim shoulders.

But if it was true, if the rumours, and Gilgamesh, and the rest were right, then Noct had a job to do. There'd be no more Crystal once it was done, no more ring, no more need for the Lucian Kings, but Noct would be the last, their greatest.

He wasn't dead, Ignis had reasoned, to the others, because he was the Chosen King. He had a task ahead of him, that required the ring and the Crystal. They were reunited now, and with the Crystal seeming dormant it was reasonable to assume that the Crystal's power was devoted to whatever task Noctis was currently undertaking. The Crystal had taken him in, and Ardyn spoke of his return. Ardyn, who had helped them as often as he'd opposed them, Ardyn, who had delighted in his torment of them, who had taken Lady Lunafreya's life, who had been behind everything so far, and now was untouched by their weapons.

Noctis would return. He had a fate ahead of him, and they would await him, and aid him in it, as they had every step of the journey so far.

A hand fell on Ignis's back, a warm and familiar weight that brushed down to his shoulder as a heated presence came to rest by his side, and the mattress creaked as it sat. “You not sleeping?” Gladio asked, his voice low, hushed. Ignis could hear the soft, regular breathing of Prompto indicating he'd fallen victim to his exhaustion, at least.

“I knew,” Ignis spoke in similarly hushed tones. “When the daemons stopped coming, when they disappeared from around us, I knew.” They'd been fighting for their lives. He'd instructed Noct to run, to head for the Crystal, that it was their only chance. Ignis had been prepared to die there, not for the first time, to give Noct the chance he needed to go forth and survive, and do what he must.

The hand slid to his bicep as Gladio's arm curled around his back and pulled him in against Gladio's large frame.

“Ardyn's been five steps ahead of us at every turn,” he said, his voice wavering with the pain of it.

Gladio made hushing noises, his hand coming up to cup Ignis's cheek. Ignis was pulled in, irresistibly, tightly, and he went with it, allowing Gladio to drag him in to be soothed and shushed. It was selfish, and childish, and Ignis cared little as he relaxed into Gladio's chest.

“I told him to go,” Ignis added, the guilt of that weighing too heavy on his heart. He'd been the one to tell Noct to go, to leave them behind and run. He'd been the one to send Noct off on his own into danger.

“If he'd stayed those daemons would have kept coming,” Gladio said, holding Ignis tightly against himself. “Until we were all dead, including Noct. It was the only chance any of us had.”

“If we'd all run,” Ignis began.

“Noct would have still got sucked into that Crystal. It's where he needs to be right now, Iggy.”

“I shouldn't have allowed Ardyn to split us up like that again.”

“It's not your fault,” Gladio said, his voice firm, and a little louder than the hushed whispers. “It was Ardyn. I don't know what that bastard is, but he ain't human. He's been behind everything.”

Ignis swallowed thickly and allowed himself to be cuddled. Gladio was right, he knew. Ardyn had been the power behind the Empire, behind the MTs, and the daemon forces the Empire had at their command. Every step of their journey, Ardyn had been at work. He'd taken them to one of the royal tombs, and to Titan, for the covenant to be formed, and he'd also separated Prompto from them, and, well...

Ardyn had been behind everything they had lost in Altissia.

“We don't know how long Noct will be inside the Crystal,” Ignis said. “The light is failing, and the Crystal has gone dormant. The world is about to become extremely dangerous.”

“We'll get through it,” Gladio said.

“We'll stick together.” Ignis tried to sit up, sharply, at the sound of Prompto's voice. He hadn't heard him waken, and the notion that Prompto was witnessing him indulge in a moment of weakness and comfort lanced down his spine uncomfortably. Gladio held him tight, his arm holding Ignis in place tucked against his chest even as the hand moved from his cheek. “And wait for Noct to come back, no matter how long it takes. He's gonna need us once he does.”

“He is pretty useless without us,” Gladio agreed.

An arm slipped around Ignis's waist, a light touch that had become familiar in the mine at Cartanica, and the bed shifted as Prompto's weight joined them on it. “Yeah,” Prompto said, the sound of tears threatening in his voice once more. Ignis brought up a hand and found the back of Prompto's head with it, drawing him close to himself, and Gladio.

“Especially without you two,” Prompto said.

Ignis felt the soft, wan smile that crossed over his own face, outside of his control. “He needs you as much as he needs us, Prompto,” he said, “and we're going to need you more than ever now, too.”

“Yeah?” There was so much uncertainty in Prompto's tone, mixed with a glimmer of hope.

“We've always needed you,” Ignis said, the prickling guilt of some of the things he'd said to and about Prompto in a past that no longer mattered itching over his skin. There had been jokes and quips that had cut the boy to the quick even though he hadn't let on, and still he'd been the first to step up and support Ignis when times had been rough, “even if we didn't realise it.”

The arm tightened around Ignis, and Ignis felt Prompto's weight come forward into the space between himself and Gladio. Ignis held him there, providing reassurance, and he felt Gladio's fingers brush over his arm as he tugged him in, too, against them both.

It lasted for a moment that quelled the roiling ache of losing Noct in Ignis's chest, and then Prompto pulled back, laughing awkwardly. “Sorry if I butted in on Iggy Gladio time.”

“It's fine,” Ignis replied, the smile on his face soft and genuine, warmed by the comforting glow in his own chest following their embrace. There seemed to be a little more hope in the room, following it. “You've helped provide us with enough opportunities for it in the past, you can be forgiven now.”

Prompto gave an awkward laugh again, and Ignis felt the bed shift, and Gladio's arm tighten around him again. “Yeah, well,” he said, nerves and a sort of cheerful awkwardness that Ignis hadn't heard come so easily in weeks colouring his voice, “we half figured you two would elope when we reached Altissia.”

“I considered it,” Gladio answered. Ignis turned his head, paying sharp attention at Gladio's admission.

“You never said,” he said, accusingly. He felt Gladio's shrug in response.

“Figured I'd propose after Noct's wedding,” he said, his voice a little extra gruff to make up for the sappiness he was displaying in front of Prompto, even now.

There was a wistful sigh from Prompto. “That's so romantic.”

“It is,” Ignis agreed, his voice a little softer than usual. Gladio merely grunted.

“Would've been,” he said, displeasure creeping into his tone. “Didn't work out, though.”

Ignis bowed his head, smiling down to himself as he settled in against Gladio's weight. They'd always resisted being too comfortable in view of Noct, and Prompto. Some habits were hard to break, and neither Ignis nor Gladio wanted their obvious weakness where the other was concerned to be too visible to the world at large, and their enemies in particular. Now there seemed little point, and in any case, they all needed to take what opportunities for comfort they could find. “Sleep,” he said, “we have a hard day ahead of us tomorrow, and we need to get through it if there's going to be another opportunity for Gladio to finally propose.”

Gladio laughed, a huff and a snort that rippled through his chest and into Ignis's own. Prompto replied, “Gotcha,” cheerfully.

A nose tucked into Ignis's hair for a second, Gladio's arms going tight around him for the duration, and then Gladio shifted, tugging Ignis to lie down with him on the narrow bunk. “You're sure?” he asked. The beds were narrow, and slightly too short for Gladio. They'd be cramped enough without him adding Ignis's presence.

Gladio grunted. “It's hard to sleep without you,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” Prompto said, quietly, amid the sound of settling springs. “It's weird trying to sleep without Noct kicking my legs all night.”

“I must admit,” Ignis said, settling in to the pillow with Gladio's weight pressing in and settling against his back in a way they hadn't done since their last night in Altissia, although that bed had been considerably wider, “I never thought I'd miss the sound of Gladio snoring down my ear in a morning, but here we are.”

“I don't snore,” Gladio contested, wrapping his arm around Ignis's waist and pulling him in flush against his chest.

“Uh, yeah you do, big guy.”

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Gladio replied, testily, “both of you.”

Ignis smiled into the pillow and found Gladio's hand with his own. He laced their fingers together, and tugged his hand up so he could brush his lips over Gladio's knuckles. Gladio's arm tightened against him again, and Ignis felt his nose tuck itself just into his hair, so that Gladio's breath fluttered the strands. He felt the words 'I love you' brush through his hair more than he heard them, and he replied with a murmur and squeeze of Gladio's hand, returning the sentiment.

He didn't know what lay ahead of them, although he could hazard guesses. Whatever the world may hold, they were best equipped to face it if they were together, that much was certain.


	2. Chapter Two: The Only Way Is Forward

“What _are_ those things?” Prompto asked.

Getting back outside hadn't been easy. The broken down MTs that littered the floor were as likely to spring to alertness under their stride as not. More than once Prompto's yelps had been followed by frantic gunshots. Gladio had taken point, severing the head of every fallen trooper just in case it still had a mind to move, but it had slowed their progress further.

The air outside, when they'd made it, was stale and lifeless. There was dust, and the faint brimstone of daemons, but there was no scent of cars, nothing to suggest anything other than daemons and MTs moved out here. 

“They're like,” Prompto supplied, his voice hesitating to describe what his eyes saw, “big black flying things with three heads,” he concluded, “and _way_ too many eyes.”

“Don't know,” Gladio answered, his voice gruff, and low, “but let's not attract their attention.”

Ignis murmured his agreement with that sentiment. Whatever the other two saw flying above, it sounded daemonic, but if it was ignoring them, then Ignis was happy to ignore it in turn. They weren't here to fight. Unnecessary fights would only eat into their limited supplies and increase the likelihood that they wouldn't make it out of here alive. “Prompto,” he said, “do you see anything likely to be a radio tower?”

Prompto gave a thoughtful hum, and Ignis could hear the brush of his shoes against the floor as he turned. When he spoke again, he wasn't facing Ignis. “Not a radio tower, exactly,” he said, “but a signal like that, you want it coming from the highest point you can.”

“In there?” Gladio asked.

“It's where I'd put it,” Prompto agreed.

“How do we get there?”

“What is it?” Ignis asked.

“There's a tall, thin tower,” Gladio said, “with a huge triangular structure full of lights on top of it. It's not part of the building we were in, but it looks like it's part of the Keep.”

Ignis tried to build the image in his mind. The part of the Keep they were in, which housed the Crystal, was largely laboratory according to the others. Stacks of files on experiments were strewn everywhere, and holding cells like the one Prompto had been confined to were on most floors. The throne room was here, Gladio had said, but it was nestled in the midst of machinery that had restricted Noct's powers. After their encounter with the daemonic form of the Niflheim Emperor, Ignis suspected that the throne room had been moved to be nearer the Crystal, rather than it having always had a seat here. “That is likely the military command centre,” he said, fingers curling near his chin as he thought. “Can you see a way to it?”

“Not from here,” Gladio replied, “but if we start heading in that direction, we'll get to it eventually.”

It sounded simpler than it became. Zegnautus Keep had been designed to be an impregnable fortress. The further they got from the heart of the tower, the more numerous daemons became. Ignis heard the chittering of goblins before the others did, and the air moved with the sweep of Gladio's greatsword through them. Paths that looked like paths were blocked with boxes and fences, the chain link too small to grip, the fence too high to climb.

They had to clear debris from more than one doorway, following narrow paths that felt like a salmon run with no room to fight if something came at them. Ignis could hit both walls with his stick without taking a step; there was certainly no room for Gladio's greatsword, or for Prompto to fire his guns safely. Finally they came to a door that was locked and then there was the heavy, meaty sound of Gladio's shoulder against the metal before it gave with a scrape. The air that came through was the same old, tired air that Ignis had breathed from the view overlooking the city. “Through here,” he said.

Gladio gave an agreeing murmur before he warned, “Watch your step.”

There was a chill in the air, blowing from behind them. It was an unnatural cold, magically frozen air from Ghorovas Rift, and the Glacian's corpse brought in on the wind, sending a prickle up the hairs on the back of Ignis's neck that had little to do with the temperature. They crossed an expanse of ground, the shift in the faint echo of their footsteps telling Ignis that there were tall buildings around them, but not close. He wondered what Gralea looked like. He knew little of the Empire's architecture, but he knew how many people were supposed to live here, how many civilians there were supposed to be. The air felt dead, the city was eerily quiet except for, if Ignis listened, the occasional cry of a daemon, the heavy footfall of an Iron Giant, or a Red Giant, patrolling the streets. Lights were on everywhere, Prompto had said, every window lit up. Lights were the only way to keep the daemons at bay, but if the lighting wasn't bright enough then daemons could still find their way inside.

Did those lights still represent a human presence? Was it a mark of the civilian population of Gralea huddled behind their doors with the only protection they had? Or was it merely a reminder that one had existed? Did each light represent a life that had been extinguished, leaving behind only its last hope of safety?

There was an elevator at the base of the tower, which took them up, higher than Ignis could imagine. They must have soared over the city. The command centre must have stood as a beacon of the Empire's power, and a constant, looming presence over its citizens. When at last the elevator came to a halt, the doors opening, the inside smelled just as lifeless as the world below, but where that was the brimstone of daemons and the dust of disused streets, this was the smell of an office abandoned by the holidays. There was the faintest scent of old coffee, lying under the odour of worn carpet, and computer terminals.

“Lead the way, Prompto,” Ignis said.

“Okay,” Prompto replied, his voice filled with a thoughtful nervousness.

He led them inside, Ignis following, aware of Gladio constantly at his shoulder. “Looks like they left in a hurry,” he said, his voice low. “Someone tried taking papers with them.” There was the sound of paper rustling against paper as Gladio picked something up, and the curl of pages as he leafed through. “Looks like dossiers on some of the daemons they held.” Gladio fell suddenly quiet.

“What is it?” Ignis asked.

“Ultima Weapon,” he said, his voice low, and pained. “Last deployed to Insomnia.”

“When the people they were experimenting on,” Prompto said, his voice also quiet, “were swallowed by the scourge, that was when they got their most powerful daemons.”

“Another report?” Ignis asked, quietly. The news was distressing, the idea of the Empire unleashing not only its warships but daemons upon the population of Insomnia, upon their home, felt like a knife in the gut.

“One I read,” Prompto said, with a weight to his voice that sounded like a frown. Ignis heard him turn. “The radio controls should be this way,” he said. “You'd want somewhere quiet to make the broadcasts.”

The air had turned heavy between them, and Ignis knew that Gladio couldn't remove the thought of Insomnia, his father, the King, the civilians, facing off against whatever horrific things the Empire had made. Knowing they had died in a battle was one thing, but clues as to the exact means of their loved ones' deaths was quite another.

Prompto led them through a door, and another door, before he finally declared, “Got it.” Ignis heard him scoot around something, and come to rest on the other side of it. A terminal, perhaps, or control panel of some description. “Okay,” he said, after a long moment of examining something, in which Gladio stood by Ignis, his elbow brushing Ignis's arm as he put his hands to his hips, patiently expectant, “so if we boost the power, and re-tune, we should be able to get the message out pretty far. This whole building looks like it's the antennae.” Ignis heard Prompto scratch at the back of his head, in thought, or out of nerves, he couldn't tell. “There's one frequency that should go pretty far, but it's got an encryption lock.”

“Likely,” Ignis said, “used for military communications.”

“Right,” Prompto agreed. Ignis could hear the cogs of thought turning in the boy's head, and a gentle smile settled across his face as he waited, “but if I can re-tune this channel to that frequency, and kill the output from that one, we can bypass it. Places like Altissia would be monitoring the military channel, right, trying to listen to their messages?”

“Indeed,” Ignis agreed. “There was a whole division of military intelligence in Insomnia dedicated to trying to decipher what the Empire's movements would be from their communications.”

“Not bad,” Gladio said, and Ignis turned slightly to hear the rumble from his throat. There was genuine pride hidden in the gruff tone. “Need us to do anything?”

There was a noise of hesitation from Prompto, interspersed with the sound of keys being pressed, and a switch being flicked. “Yeah,” he said, “you should be able to record our message on that terminal, just give me a minute.”

“Gotcha,” Gladio replied. Ignis felt a familiar hand fall to his elbow. “Iggy can do the talking.”

Ignis let himself be led around the terminal, and then there was the sound of a chair being pulled out. “Just here,” Gladio said, quietly, his hand moving to place a gentle touch at Ignis's hip, and guide him to the correct position. Ignis sat down without reaching for the chair, trusting Gladio to have guided him properly, and then rested his stick against the terminal. “There's a microphone just in front of you.”

Ignis ran his hands along the terminal, stroking upwards until he found a box, and then followed that up to an extension, something thin and arced, reaching towards his face. He followed it with his fingers, and then tugged it gently upwards, so it was pointing to his mouth. There was the sound of Prompto tapping, and then another switch was flicked. “Ready when you are,” he said.

Ignis inhaled, running through his mind what message he might say, what the world needed to know, and what would bring them the help they needed. “This is Ignis Scientia, broadcasting from Zegnautus Keep in Gralea,” he said. “This message is for Cor Leonis, Aranea Highwind, President Claustra, and Cid Sophiar. Emperor Iedolas is dead, the Empire has fallen. We require extraction from Gralea.”

Ignis leaned back, and there was the sound of a switch once more from Prompto. “You,” he said, hesitantly, “not mentioning anything about Noct, and the Crystal?”

Ignis smiled, wanly. “The explanation may get a little lengthy for a radio message, and I'd rather, if whoever receives the message is not someone that can help us, they try to get the message to people that can, instead of being caught up in questions.”

Gladio grunted, agreeing, however reluctantly. “We can tell whoever comes to get us what happened to Noct,” he said, “assuming anyone comes.”

“They'll come,” Ignis said, his voice quiet, but certain.

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed. “We might not hear anything back, but you can hear Lucis broadcasts all the way in Tenebrae, right? I remember Dave and Sania being on the radio on the train,” he said, quietly, his voice going even quieter as he added, “and we weren't that far from Tenebrae. So,” he said, his voice going clear and more sure of itself again, “they should hear this in Altissia at least.”

“And Aranea,” Ignis pointed out, “will most certainly be able to listen to that frequency.” Though whether she would, having abandoned the military as she had, was another matter. Ignis doubted that Aranea would have denied herself valuable intelligence on the Empire's movements. They may have changed the encryption since she defected, but an unencrypted message on the same frequency stood a good chance of reaching her.

There was some more tapping from Prompto, and then he declared, “Okay,” sounding pleased. “I've set that message to go out every fifteen minutes.”

“Now we wait,” Ignis said, with a slight nod.

Gladio murmured. Ignis could feel the man's hand on the back of his chair, fingers brushing against the back of his shoulder. “Reckon there's anyone alive in this city?” he asked.

Ignis frowned. All of their thoughts had turned to that matter, then. “There's no way of knowing,” he said, “and I could hear the daemons prowling beyond the Keep. The city is ravaged by daemons; there's no way we can search.”

“But anyone out there,” Prompto said, his voice telling of the frown he wore, “if they can't leave their homes, their choice is to be killed by daemons or starve.”

“They may already be dead,” Ignis said, trying to be as gentle as he could while pointing out a disturbing possible truth. “If they are, then we would be risking our lives for nothing.”

“Iggy's right,” Gladio said, his hand brushing up and onto Ignis's shoulder as he spoke. It squeezed gently, and Ignis was glad of that tiny comfort in this moment. “If we don't know there's anyone to help, it's not worth it.”

Prompto gave a frustrated, unhappy grumble, and then there was the sound of some hurried tapping on the terminal at which he sat. “Budge over, Iggy,” he said, with renewed vigour.

Ignis rose from the chair and took a step sideways. Gladio's arm came to rest on his hip again, urging him to take a step back too, and then it lingered on the small of his back as the sound of Prompto clearing his throat entered the room. “This is a Lucian rescue party calling Gralea,” he said, his voice bright, and firm. “If there's anyone alive out there, find a light, or a mirror, and flash it at Zegnautus Keep. Let us know that you're there, and we will come and get you. Just don't give up, and keep flashing a light at us. We're watching for you.”

There was another flick of a switch, and then a satisfied huff. “Better than nothing, right?” Prompto asked.

“You sure that's wise?” Gladio responded. Ignis wasn't sure if he speaking to Prompto, or him.

He wasn't entirely sure if it was, or not. With the Emperor dead and the command centre abandoned like this, there was unlikely to be anyone listening that might use it to find and attack them. On the other hand, if someone was alive out there in Gralea, it would mean risking an expedition out into the depths of a daemon riddled and unfamiliar city, that was likely as plagued by the broken down MTs as it was Iron Giants and worse. “Perhaps not wise,” he decided, “but we can hardly leave innocent civilians to the ravages of daemons.” He turned his head towards Gladio. “For now,” he said, “we've done all we can. Let's return, and watch for any response.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge, huge thanks to Sauronix for helping me straighten some stuff out and acting as my sounding board, and to BNBNB on Tumblr for their exploration of Gralea pictures, which were a huge help in writing this chapter.
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are greatly appreciated. Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter Three: We'll Wait For You

The daemons inside the Keep were multiplying, and they got tougher the more of them there were. It had just been goblins, and the MTs, with the Iron or Red Giants in open spaces. It was possible to avoid those, if you crept around the walls, hid yourself behind boxes and crates. You risked running into MTs, but there were less of those now.

MTs didn't respawn, Prompto had said. Ignis had given him a withering look, despite the shaded lenses, and told him this wasn't some dungeon level of one of his and Noct's computer games, but he'd been forced to concede that there wasn't a more appropriate term for it.

It wasn't respawning, exactly, Ignis had said, later. They weren't the same daemon, coming back as per some game developer's coding. If the research notes that littered the laboratory levels were to be believed, then each daemon was a person, likely an inhabitant of Gralea, lost to the infectious scourge. The scientists had failed to contain the infection, and so the city had been lost, and with it the Empire had crumbled. “To think,” Ignis had murmured, “all those years of war, and all we had to do was wait them out.”

“That's what Insomnia was trying to do,” Gladio pointed out, gruffly, bitterly. His eyes were downcast, and there was a scowl on his face. “They had other plans.”

“Do you think,” Prompto began, and faltered. Ignis turned his head to look at him, patience in his expression, and it felt strange to have a hundred percent of someone's attention that way. “Do you think that's why they attacked when they did?” he asked, forcing himself to press on. “The Scourge had got out, so they went for the Crystal to try and control it again?”

“That may have been the thinking of some of the military minds,” Ignis said, bowing his head again in thought. “I expect the reasons were multiple and varied. The Emperor, certainly, was mad with his lust for power, which the Crystal represented, and I doubt Ardyn had no hand in the decision to attack.” There was bitterness in his voice at the mention of Ardyn, and Prompto wondered if Ignis knew his nostrils flared and the corners of his mouth turned downwards when he spoke the name.

Gladio grunted, unhappily. The big guy's gaze was on his hands, not on the tiny expressions that slipped from Ignis, or Prompto's own slight fidgeting. “Why take the Crystal away if he just wanted Noct to come and find it?”

“To lead all of us in his merry dance,” Ignis replied, as unhappily as decisively. “Destroying Insomnia and taking the Crystal prompted Lady Lunafreya to forge the covenants with the Astrals, pushing Noct to do the same, while hunting down the ancient Armiger.”

“I just don't get why,” Gladio insisted, finally looking up at Ignis. “Why would he want to make Noct as strong as he can while making an enemy of him? Is it to fulfil his destiny? Is this his twisted way of _helping_?”

Ignis opened his mouth to respond, and then closed it again, and sighed through his nose. Prompto watched him shake his head before he finally replied, his voice soft, and his shoulders slumped, “I wish I knew.” The frown returned, Ignis's lips thinning before he continued, “Whatever his reasons, he wishes Noct to meet him in Insomnia when he returns. Since it would be unreasonable to assume Noct will be kindly disposed towards Ardyn, at least based on present evidence, I can only surmise that Ardyn intends a fight.”

“Maybe he wants Noct strong enough that he can actually hurt him?” Prompto suggested, looking back down at his hands. The idea wasn't a comforting one. “Since we don't have a hope.”

“He's a fucking weirdo,” Gladio concluded, with feeling. It had drawn a small huff of amusement from Ignis, and a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but was still genuine.

“Quite so,” Ignis agreed.

The rising numbers of daemons made trips to the Crystal's chamber more hazardous, as were their journeys to their chosen vantage points overlooking Gralea. There had been no response that first night after they'd sent their message out, but Ignis had told Prompto not to lose hope. People may have had a hard time believing what they were hearing at first; after all, Lucis was the enemy, here, and who knew what propaganda the Empire had spun to its populace. Give it a couple of days, though their measurement of such was growing shaky, and people might be more inclined to take whatever chance they could.

They'd kept watch as long as they could, that first day, until fatigue had set in and they'd agreed it was likely night, and time to eat, and sleep. They'd spent the evening quietly, and the one after that, putting together what they would use for themselves, and what they would leave for Noct. Food and water here, at the dormitory, and instructions, and a map at the Crystal itself. Prompto wrote their message on some of the spare paper that had lain in the laboratories, intending to go to the Crystal and leave it for Noct in the morning.

The next day they went to their unofficial post keeping watch for survivors, together. Until Ignis had declared he was going with Prompto to the Crystal, and Gladio would stay behind.

“I'm coming with you,” Gladio had insisted.

“Someone must stay and keep watch,” Ignis had replied, his tone brooking no argument. “Since I am unequipped for the task, it makes sense that Prompto and I go, so the strongest of us is the one alone.”

“Or,” Gladio had pressed, trying to argue despite Ignis's tone, “we can all go, once we know if we're getting rescued.”

“The Keep grows more treacherous daily, the path to the Crystal may be impassable for us by then.”

“But you expect Noct to make it back out alone, do you?” Gladio had pointed out, annoyance rising in his tone, and even though Ignis couldn't see the way Gladio bared his teeth, Prompto could.

“ _Noct_ ,” Ignis had answered, sharply, unmoved, “has access to the ring, the Armiger, every one of his weapons, and the ability to _warp_ , Gladio, he will be better equipped than us.”

“He'll still be alone,” Gladio pressed.

Ignis huffed, discomfort in his expression and the shift of his hips. “He is the Chosen King. If he is truly to become that, then we must stop viewing him as the helpless Prince.” Ignis's voice faded to a pained whisper as he added, “However difficult for us that may be.” Ignis inhaled, then, drawing himself up, but his voice stayed painfully quiet as he continued, “Besides, we shall be leaving him a good stock of potions, as well as a map and instructions. We have to trust him, Gladio; it's the only way he might survive, and us with him.”

Gladio had growled, low in his throat, but he'd looked as unhappy as Ignis, and scowled at the floor before he'd admitted, “I still don't like the idea of you two going.” He'd pursed his lips, brows furrowed, and looked up at Prompto, over Ignis's shoulder as he said, “You have one hour, and then I'm coming to find you.” Prompto wasn't sure if it was more of a promise, or a threat. It could easily have been both.

“That's all we need,” Ignis had said.

Gladio had huffed again before he'd stepped forward, wrapping an arm around Ignis's back and pulling him in. Prompto watched him press a kiss to Ignis's temple, and squeeze him tightly for a moment before he let him go again, his eyes returning to Prompto. “Don't let anything happen to him,” he warned, “to _either_ of you,” he corrected.

“One hour,” Prompto confirmed, with a small salute and an awkward smile that he hoped was reassuring, even though watching Ignis and Gladio disagree even for a moment reminded him painfully of their time traipsing through Cartanica.

If anyone had made Prompto be honest, he didn't really like the idea of trekking to the Crystal without Gladio. It wasn't because Ignis couldn't fight; he could still defend himself, and he still had some magic at his disposal, it was just that they could come back and find Gladio fighting a Red Giant, or worse, could get cut off from him, or the Crystal, by one. They'd avoided daemons when they'd first started out from Insomnia, but as they'd all got stronger they'd taken them down, wave after wave of them sometimes, but the thing was, the important thing was, that they'd been four.

They'd had Noct, and the Armiger, and his warping, and Ignis at full capacity, and if they ran out of potions they could just buy more. They didn't have any of that now, and the idea of losing another one of them was gut wrenching, and it was so much more possible than it had ever seemed before.

One thing they did have was Ignis's sharpened senses. He'd tried to explain, the night after they'd found Prompto again, when he'd seen them again for the first time in he'd lost track of how long and he hadn't been sure he'd wanted to see them because of what he had to tell them. They'd accepted him back into the fold as if none of what he was mattered, and all four of them had stayed in the dormitory, where Ignis had explained that his senses weren't _actually_ sharper, it was just that he paid more attention without his vision to rely on. He could tell when the lights were on, specifically, when it was light enough somewhere that daemons wouldn't venture there, but mostly now he just heard things, and no longer paid more attention to his eyes than his ears.

He'd heard the machinery that was blocking Noct's powers before the others had realised they too could hear it, and had been hearing it all along.

He could hear daemons now, before Prompto saw them, and when Ignis put a hand to his arm, and held up a finger for silence, Prompto listened and realised that he could hear them as well. Goblins chittered, Iron Giants creaked, so did Red Giants but you could hear the brush of flame through the air as they swung their swords as they moved, and that was how you told them apart.

Ignis heard them, and Prompto guided Ignis behind this box, or told him how far away they were from the passage they needed to dart down as soon as the Red Giant had turned away.

Between the two of them they reached the Crystal chamber without having to do much more fighting than shooting a handful of goblins. Prompto looked up at the darkened, yet still floating hunk of rock that had swallowed Noct. If he looked, really looked, he could still see a faint shimmer around it. It was still live, just dormant. Busy, he mentally corrected. Busy with whatever Noct was up to in its depths. It didn't look big enough to contain him, but it had swallowed him all right.

“Do you think the daemons will come near it, like this?” he asked, turning his attention to Ignis.

Ignis's face was turned towards the Crystal, and Prompto wondered if he could sense it. The sound of their voices bouncing off it, maybe? Or just the magic of it. “Who can say?” he asked, in response. “I'll keep an ear out,” he said, “take your time.”

Prompto thought to protest, but silenced himself, and bit his lip. Then he swallowed, and turned back to the Crystal. If he was Noct, where would be the first place he looked after exiting? Back at it, right? If it spat him out he'd probably hit the floor, see the doorway, and then look back at where he'd come from.

With his mind made up, Prompto put the potions as close to the Crystal as seemed safe. He hadn't found an envelope for the instructions, and he didn't want it to get blown away, or knocked by some passing monster, like Ardyn, so he wedged the letter under one of the potions, so it was still visible, and hoped that would be good enough. Then he turned to glance back at Ignis.

Ignis was still patiently listening to the daemons outside. Prompto got the distinct impression he was being deliberately afforded a moment of privacy.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he raised one hand to the Crystal, and then drew back a little, curling his fingers. Should he touch it? Dare he? He inhaled, deeply, and then slowly pressed his hand against the rock. It just felt like rock, warm, like taking a potion did, or using a phoenix down, but it was still rock under his fingers. “I don't know if you can hear me in there,” he began, low and wavering. “We've gotta go. We don't want to.” He gave an awkward laugh. “Pretty sure Gladio would spend the rest of his life killing every Daemon in this Keep on a daily basis if it meant we didn't have to,” he added. He hung his head and frowned as he admitted, “Me too. But Iggy's right. We're no good to you dead. So,” he swallowed, finding his throat going dry, “I'm gonna make you a promise, right? You come back out of there, and we'll be waiting. Doesn't matter if it's tomorrow, or next year,” he said, as his voice began to crack, “or even longer, we'll stay alive, and we'll be waiting.”

“Prompto,” Ignis's soft voice and gentle tone came from the doorway, and Prompto sniffed hard and rubbed at his cheeks with the back of his hand.

“We're just leaving food and water for him,” Prompto said, his voice still wobbling, “like he's a pet and we're going away for a day.”

Prompto heard Ignis's defeated sigh, and suddenly realised he could hear the tiredness in Iggy's voice when he said, “There isn't much else we can do.”

“I know, just,” Prompto began, and then trailed off.

“There is an old prophecy,” Ignis said, his tone quiet, and reasonable, “about the Lucian line of descent. I never paid it much heed myself,” he admitted, and Prompto looked back over his shoulder to see a weary, rueful smile on Ignis's face. One that didn't reach his eyes. “Why put stock in prophecy when history is known fact, not speculation on a future?” Ignis swallowed, and bowed his head, “If we can find information on it, we can better prepare for what is coming, and what is coming for Noct.”

“So,” Prompto hesitated, “you think the prophecy you mentioned might be real?” He'd heard Ignis and Gladio talk about it, when they'd thought he was asleep already. How Noct was the Chosen King, how the Crystal was related to that, and so Noct was just doing what he had to, now, and they should do the same.

Ignis's smile became wan as he said, “There was a portrait, in the Citadel, of the Chosen King, and his companions.”

“Did it look like Noct?” Prompto asked.

Ignis's smile spread, genuine and warm, as he answered and gave an amused huff, “Not really,” he admitted. “Not at the time, but the King was depicted at the height of his power, flanked by his weapons, and his companions.” Ignis fell quiet again, bowing his head for a moment before he pushed himself to continue, “One was bearded, and strong,” he said, “one was blond, and at the King's side.”

Prompto waited for Ignis to finish, as he opened his mouth to, but then he closed it again, turning his head away as he fell quiet. “Was there another?” Prompto asked, suddenly worried that the answer might be no.

Ignis didn't turn back towards Prompto when he said, more quietly than Prompto had ever heard him, “He was supported by the bearded one, and had his eyes bandaged.”

Prompto felt a cold current run through him and his skin tingled unpleasantly, every hair pricking up. “That's gotta be you,” he said, the chill of realisation racing up his spine. “That's _us_ ,” he said, more certainly.

“It was artwork, Prompto, don't put too much store in it. Artists take liberties,” Ignis replied, firmly.

Prompto shook his head and walked towards Ignis, “That's a bit of a coincidence though, right?” he insisted.

Ignis gave a soft sigh, his face turning towards Prompto and his blind eyes closed, but Prompto still felt under scrutiny. “Perhaps,” he admitted, reluctantly. “I don't know the exact wording of the prophecy,” he added, “but if we can find out, it may contain other useful hints for what will happen next.”

“Yeah,” Prompto agreed. The unpleasant, itchy feeling of his skin prickling was replaced by a strange sense of warmth. “Yeah, let's do that.”

Ignis gave a thoughtful hum. “Now,” he said, changing the subject, “we should return before Gladio gets it into his head that an hour has already passed. His sense of the passage of time has never been the best, especially when it suits him that way.”

Prompto gave a laugh, a nervous, awkward laugh that matched the smile on his face. “Yeah,” he repeated. Then he swallowed, and asked, “Iggy?” Ignis's face turned towards him, awaiting the question, and Prompto pressed on, “You know it's not just Gladio that's gonna support you, right?”

Prompto watched Ignis's face settle into a soft, genuine smile, which felt as comforting as their group hug that first night without Noct. “Nor will you be alone by Noct's side,” he replied, gently, “whatever may come.”


	4. Chapter Four: A Quiet Moment

The quiet murmur of Prompto's snores filled the air. For four days they'd held vigil over the city, watching for any light, any sign of life, and for four days there had been nothing. Similarly, there had been no sign of any rescue. No airships has flown overhead, only the strange daemonic creatures that Ignis couldn't picture no matter how many attempts Prompto made to describe them. The train tracks didn't sing with moving weight on their length, appreciably close. No message came through that rescue might be on its way.

Ignis lay awake, listening to the sounds of the Keep. He could hear daemons beyond the door to the dormitory. He hadn't heard an MT now for the last couple of nights and had surmised that they'd all been taken care of. Gladio had certainly done significant damage to their population on their forays to the laboratories, or the Crystal, or outside to the lifeless air of Gralea, which seemed to carry a permanent tang of brimstone, now. Daemons, however, were not a finite resource.

The Empire's scientists had done much research into the scourge. Ignis had bade Prompto, or Gladio, read the reports they'd recovered to him. They'd collected as many as they'd found; the information was potentially useful in Lucis. The Oracle had aided keeping the scourge in check, but with Lady Lunafreya's passing, anything that might help was valuable.

It was no good here in Gralea, however, and with no sign of rescue, it was time they considered their own road out.

Ignis heard Gladio's footsteps as he walked slowly, quietly, so as not to disturb Prompto who slept less than he pretended, and even that only when true exhaustion had claimed him. He reached a hand out to Gladio, and a warm hand slid into his own bare palm and clasped around his hand as Gladio took a seat next to him.

“The kid's finally asleep,” he said, his voice a low whisper that sent a shiver of intimate memory up Ignis's spine. Gladio had only ever spoken this softly, this determined not to be heard, when he'd whispered into Ignis's ear in the tent, in the dead of night, with Noct near their feet, and Prompto by their side. The context was different, and the dormitory didn't smell like a crowded tent with four sleeping men inside it, especially not four sleeping men that had sampled the recipe Ignis had developed inspired by Takka's chilli con carne, but Gladio had then, as now, been a warm hand and soft words in the darkness.

Ignis smiled, and brought Gladio's hand up to press it to his lips, as he had done back then. “I expect he has a lot on his mind. There are still no lights, are there?” he asked, his own voice falling to a whisper to match that of Gladio.

Gladio murmured his confirmation, and sidled closer until he could place an arm around Ignis's back, and tug him closer. Ignis shuffled slowly, aware of the creak and groan of the bedsprings as he moved, settling his back to Gladio's chest, the back of his head coming to nestle in the curve created between the swell of Gladio's deltoid, and his pectoral. “The city's dead,” Gladio murmured, regret tingeing his voice. “They're probably all daemons by now.”

Ignis sighed, slowly, enjoying the warmth and familiarity of Gladio's embrace in a place as cold and strange as Gralea, as the entire world, right now. Voices other than their own, faces and footfalls that didn't belong to them, or to daemons, would have alleviated the horrible sense of isolation. Gralea felt cut off from the whole world, and they with it. “It was worth the try,” Ignis whispered.

How many had Gralea held? How many had become daemons? How many now stalked the corridors of the Keep?

“Yeah,” Gladio said, his voice low, and thoughtful. An arm wound its way across Ignis's stomach, and Ignis felt Gladio tuck his chin in to his hair, and the unmistakeable rise and fall of his chest as he sighed.

“Are you all right?” he asked, tracing the back of Gladio's hand with his thumb in small strokes.

Gladio murmured, a non-committal noise that Ignis took as a 'yes' with an attached, and overpowering, 'but' following it. “I'll be happier when we get out of here,” Gladio admitted, softly. “It's like they know we're the last living things in this damn city, and they get stronger every time.”

Ignis wished he could put that down to confirmation bias. They fought so many daemons, they now only took note of the ones that were strong. He wished that was a comfort. It wasn't. Instead it indicated that the number of daemons was increasing, and if they were increasing within the Keep then they were most certainly increasing out in the city, too. He could smell it every time they ventured outside; the black ichor the daemons erupted from, and melted to, lingering in the air, tainting it with daemonic sulphur and flames.

“Nothing we can't handle,” he said, hoping his voice sounded as reassuring at he meant it to be. “Together.” As they were, and would fight to their last to be. Not just himself and Gladio, he knew, although that had long been a given, but Prompto, too.

Gladio sighed again, inhaling deeply of Ignis's hair, which was hardly the cleanest it had ever been. The dormitory came equipped with washing facilities, but it wasn't the same as a long hot bath, or a luxurious and protracted shower. “Yeah,” Gladio agreed, more firmly than he had, but there remained that lingering sense of a 'but' to follow it.

Ignis trailed his fingers up the back of Gladio's hand and found the crook of his thumb. He slipped his fingers in, until they rested against Gladio's palm, and then squeezed. “So what is preying on your mind?” he asked, his voice becoming a quieter whisper than before. Prompto's soft snoring still permeated the air, but the boy needed his sleep, and Gladio had clearly been holding on to some thoughts.

Gladio folded his thumb over Ignis's hand and held it there. He seemed to consider his words for a moment, shifting his head so that his cheek rested against Ignis's temple. “Do you really think Noct will be able to take them on alone?” he asked, his voice a strained murmur. “If that Crystal spits him out here after we're gone, is he going to be okay?”

Ignis's lips parted before he had an answer, and he closed his mouth again, bowing his head to take a moment. He kept his eyes closed anyway, most of the time. He could discern light, but that wasn't useful here, and keeping one eye open when it was painful to attempt to open the other left him with tension headaches. If he hadn't had his eyes closed regardless, he'd have closed them now, as he examined the thoughts racing across the inside of his own mind, instead of the evidence of his eyes.

He knew exactly how Gladio felt. That worry, that desire to have faith in Noct, that need to trust that they were making the right call, and the niggling possibility that they were not that utterly refused to go away, he knew it all too well. He'd known it many times, with many plans over the years, over the last year in particular. _What if I'm wrong?_ It had always been useful, before; a way to check himself, to make himself double check his thinking before proceeding.

It wasn't useful here, but not being useful didn't make it go away. “You have to trust that you trained him well,” Ignis answered, his voice soft, and slightly strained. “He's stronger than either of us realised, Gladio, we're just going to have to trust him.”

“I know,” Gladio replied, curling his arm tighter around Ignis. “I just,” he began, and faltered, and Ignis could feel the tiny tremble to the breath that came past his ear, “I don't like it,” Gladio concluded. “I'm his Shield, and I'm walking away from him, and I don't like it.”

Ignis bit his lip at the admission. If he could think of any way for them to stay, and survive, he would have them do it, in a heartbeat. No matter how dangerous it might be, if it was even _possible_ , it was worth it so that they weren't walking away from Noct. “I know,” he answered, the words coming out as a breath, and Ignis settled his weight more securely into Gladio's form, “neither do I.” Gladio shook his hands free of Ignis's grip for a second, one distressing second, where Ignis thought he was going to move, and slip away. Instead Gladio folded both of his arms around Ignis and tucked his face into Ignis's shoulder. “We're no use to him dead,” Ignis said, softly.

Gladio huffed into Ignis's shoulder and squeezed him, arms tightening around Ignis so securely that Ignis could have melted into it, not said another word, just been held like this all evening. “If I can't protect my King,” Gladio said, his voice low and muffled in Ignis's shoulder, “I'm going to protect his people. Starting with you, and Prompto. No matter what it takes.”

Ignis raised one hand up to his shoulder, finding the long strands of Gladio's hair and brushing his fingertips in and over Gladio's scalp. “Just promise me there'll be no suicide missions?” he asked.

Gladio gave an amused huff against Ignis's shoulder, and then lifted his head and pressed his cheek against Ignis's temple. Ignis heard him inhale through his nose, a deep and soothing breath, re-ordering his thoughts. “I'm not gonna die,” he promised. “I can't die until I make an honest man of you.”

Ignis raised an eyebrow and turned his head slightly, towards Gladio. “ _That_ ,” he said, his tone amused and lilting, “might take rather more than a ring and a promise.”

Gladio laughed, a deep chuckle that vibrated against Ignis's skin and made his heart sing. “You got me there,” he admitted, before turning his head and pressing his lips to Ignis's cheek, and then again to his jaw, and then again to the side of his throat.

Ignis's throat went dry. He'd _missed_ this. Since knowing Gladio, the longest dry spell he'd ever had was in the aftermath of their disastrous venture in Altissia. Before that, it had been when Gladio had left on his fool's errand to best Gilgamesh. They could, at least, kiss, and hold each other, but anything more than that, with Prompto so near, felt discourteous.

Altissia, after which Gladio had been so angry, with Noct, and himself, and the world. He hesitated, wondering if he should ask, or whether it would be something Gladio would prefer not to go into. Ignis had been so swept up in what he was going through, what Noct was going through, that he hadn't considered another story that he hadn't been aware of, going on at the same time.

“Were you really going to propose in Altissia?” he asked, a frown marring his face.

He felt Gladio freeze, and then breathe in deeply, and let it back out slowly. “Yeah,” he said, regret colouring the word so strongly Ignis felt it hang in the air. “I'd got the ring in Lestallum, after I got back.”

Ignis's brow furrowed. _Past tense_ , he realised, and not as if it was merely a past action. His chest felt uncomfortably tight for a moment, and it had little to do with the firmness of Gladio's embrace. “Do you still have it?” he asked. He had to be sure.

Ignis heard Gladio swallow before he answered, “No.”

Ignis mulled that reply over. His curiosity was getting the better of him. Gladio was a loving soul, for all he denied it, and had obviously planned to propose. Events in Altissia had somewhat rained on that parade before it had ever begun, but... “May I ask..?”

Gladio's head turned away, glancing in the direction of Prompto. Ignis listened too, to the gentle breaths that were no longer snores, but those of a young man deeply asleep. “I had it all planned out,” Gladio murmured, and Ignis wondered if he was half talking to himself. “We were going to reunite Noct and Lady Luna, get their wedding back on track, and then I was going to ask you.” Ignis heard the faint tremor in Gladio's voice as he pressed on, “But then Noct fought Leviathan, and Luna died, and you were lay there in that bed, half dead and bandaged up. They said you'd never see out of one eye again, and the other was touch and go, and,” Gladio trailed off, and swallowed thickly, “I threw the ring into the sea. I figured why not? The Tidemother had taken everything else that mattered already.”

“Gladio,” Ignis said, folding his hand over Gladio's arm and following it until he reached Gladio's own hand and laced their fingers together.

Gladio shook his head, and the movement sent a ripple through Ignis. “I couldn't have proposed to you with that ring after that, Iggy.” He gave a small, pained laugh, “I'd had it engraved. It felt wrong, when you wouldn't have been able to see it.”

Ignis felt himself smile, hopelessly, and helplessly. Gladio exuded such a deliberately cultivated air of rampant machismo that anyone that didn't know him well would scarce believe him capable of being romantic. He had a soft heart, though, and a softly hopeless way of loving that made Ignis fall all the harder for him, and his doomed romantic notions. “Tell me what it was engraved with?” he asked.

“Does it matter?” Gladio asked, nearly sullen.

“It mattered to you then,” Ignis said, softly, “so it matters to me now.”

Gladio didn't answer immediately. He tightened his hold on Ignis, and Ignis could picture his indecision, his facial expressions as he tried to think of a way to convince Ignis that it was of no consequence, rather than being forced to admit to whatever dreadfully romantic notion had come into his head in a private moment. When the pause had gone long enough for its pregnancy to come full term, Gladio finally answered, “A feather.” Ignis's heart began to ache as Gladio continued on, awkwardly, “On the inside, so it was just for us. I'd figured,” he trailed off again, and Ignis remained silent, his heart pounding in his ears, “since you'd taken one of mine to show you loved me, I could _give_ you one to show it back.”

The silence that followed the admission was punctuated by an awkward, shaky huff. “Pretty sappy, huh?” Gladio asked.

Ignis bit his lip as the information sank in, and then he sat up, shifting his weight off Gladio. He felt Gladio's grip on him loosen with reluctance, but it settled when Ignis merely turned, so that he was facing Gladio instead. He reached up with one hand, finding the plane of Gladio's cheek, feeling the brush of stubble against his palm and fingers. He reached, slowly, until he found Gladio's nose, and followed the line up, until he brushed over an eyebrow, feeling the long lashes of a closed eye against his fingers, and a tear that Gladio would have died before admitting to.

He brushed the tear away with his thumb, and then trailed down until he found the mounds of Gladio's lips. He afforded Gladio a gentle smile as he stroked over them with the pad of his thumb, memorising their place, and then sank his hand back, into Gladio's hair. “Exceedingly,” he said, softly, before he leaned in to press his lips to Gladio's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go, and it's a bit of a doozy. Thank you for sticking with me and reading this far.


	5. Chapter Five: Escape

Seven nights, by Ignis's count, although their definition of night was hazy when the sun neither rose nor set, and the only measure for the passage of time was one's own bodyclock, and counting the repeating messages on the radio. Every fifteen minutes Prompto's voice had bloomed over the local alert station, telling Gralea to signal them if it was still alive, and for seven whole nights the city had remained stubbornly, distressingly still.

It had also been distressingly void of any sign of rescue. That was becoming the more pressing concern. Ignis had lain awake at night, tucked against Gladio's side, his mind racing through their very limited options. On foot was out of the question; they'd be dead before they got as far as the rift. There were trains; broken, upturned carriages belying some disaster before they'd ever arrived at Gralea, but trains, contrary to popular belief, didn't simply live on the tracks when not in use. They were stored somewhere, maintained somewhere, and where there was one, there would be others. It may take some exploration, but it would at least be a vehicle.

Or there was the Regalia, broken down and battered as she was. They may not be able to get her going again, but Gralea doubtless had vehicles, and if they could take the Regalia's _lights_ , those ones they had fought their way through the sewers at the edge of Lucis to find for Cindy, another vehicle would at least be afforded some protection from the daemons.

Or, as Prompto had suggested, they could find where the Empire kept their drop ships. A military base like Zegnautus Keep doubtless had some. Unfortunately, such a plan required not only that a functioning airship had been left behind after whatever had happened here before they'd arrived, but also that they learn to pilot it. Ignis had been quite clear, at the time, that while he had been forced to blindly trust Noct's driving when his life was on the line, his life was not yet on the line enough for him to consider placing their survival in the hands of Prompto or Gladio's newly discovered flying skills. It was a factor to keep in mind, but it certainly wasn't Plan B.

It wasn't Plan C, either. Ignis would be hard pushed to name it Plan Z, and Plan Y at this point was cartwheeling all the way back to Cartanica and hoping the daemons just found them hard to hit.

“So,” Gladio said, as they prepared to make for their vantage point again. His voice was low, and leaden, and Ignis suspected he hadn't been the only one that hadn't slept much. “How much longer we gonna give it before we try Plan B?”

Prompto sighed. Ignis could hear the pause in sound as Prompto ceased pulling his boots on. It lasted a second, then two, and then the scrape of material against material sounded again, followed by the heavy drop, and stamp, of a foot onto the floor, making sure his heel was properly in. “Can we give it a bit longer?” he asked.

Ignis bowed his head at the request. Prompto sounded so desperate, so desperate to know that Gralea wasn't dead, that, perhaps, Lucis wasn't in similarly dire straits, and that was why no rescue had come. “We have to consider our options before our situation grows desperate,” he said, softly. “Gladio's right; we can't continue to linger fruitlessly.”

“I just,” Prompto began, and his breath caught. When his voice picked back up, it sounded as if he was talking into his chest. “Two more days? Please?” he was all but begging, Ignis realised. “Just two more. I have to know we're not just leaving people, like we did in Insomnia.”

Ignis frowned, but it was Gladio that took up the conversation. “We didn't leave people in Insomnia,” he said, a gruffness to his voice that sounded irritated, but as if it was covering something more mournful.

“Yeah we did,” Prompto replied, his voice a whisper. “We all did. We just couldn't get back to help them.”

Ignis felt the words like a chill through his veins, and he turned his face away, even though he couldn't see to avert his gaze. His uncle. Prompto's parents. Gladio's father. They were unspoken losses they'd mourned in private. Ignis had felt he didn't have the right to mourn, not as the others did; he'd lost his uncle, and extended family, but they'd never been especially close. All the people that Ignis truly cared about had been on the journey with him, and _they_ had lost people of far more consequence, but he'd shed his tears, and he'd been there when Gladio had shed his, and they'd all been there when Noct had shed his.

Had anyone been there for Prompto when he was shedding his? Ignis realised he didn't know, and that this realisation made him deeply ashamed.

“We didn't do that,” Gladio said, a little more gently, but still with his gruff exterior. “The Empire did.”

“The Empire did this, too,” Prompto pointed out, his voice quiet, and vulnerable, “and anyone left here is being left to the same thing everyone in Insomnia faced. If we can help this time, I want to.”

Ignis didn't have to hear the plea for just a little longer, but he also knew what would come once the extended time was up; it wouldn't be quite long enough. How long until the fires of hope were extinguished, instead of merely banked? Survivor's guilt was a dangerous thing to allow to lead one's decisions, but it was ever so tempting.

“Two more nights,” he said, “that's all. Then we find ourselves transport out of here.”

“Right,” Prompto agreed, and although there was relief in it, it wasn't enthusiastic relief.

“You sure we can afford another couple of nights sat on our asses?” Gladio asked in a heavy undertone, when they left. He took the back of Ignis's arm in his hand, but his grip wasn't the firm guide it had been before any more; it had changed, and become a gentle urging as Ignis had become surer on his feet.

“I don't intend to spend them that way,” Ignis replied, flashing a confident smile at Gladio. The fingers on his arm squeezed, gently, before easing again, and then the hand moved and slipped to the back of his shoulders, the brush and stroke as it moved unquestionably fond.

It had become too dangerous to keep their vigil outside. The sounds of daemons making their slow, aimless way through Gralea's streets had grown close enough that it was no longer merely Ignis that heard it, and the population of goblins and arachne within the Keep's confines were growing too large for Ignis's comfort. They'd spotted reapers and Necromancers starting to filter through, too, and had decided then to give those areas a wide berth. They retreated instead to the command tower, from which their signal for help, and their offer of aid to the city below emitted.

They hadn't received any communications back. Gladio kept watch by the windows while Prompto scanned for any incoming messages, but again, the recordings were blank. Ignis was becoming familiar enough with the layout of the offices that he could navigate them on his own. The banks of workstations were five steps apart each, and three steps long. Knowing this meant that if he lost track, he could reorient himself with his stick.

He could feel Gladio's gaze on him, the warm pressure settling on his skin in a way he could never sufficiently explain. It was nonsense, of course; his brain's quick explanation for whatever other environmental cues he'd unconsciously picked up that told him Gladio was looking at him, but still he felt it, as surely as the clothes he wore. “You're supposed to be watching the city,” he reminded him, with a smile in Gladio's direction.

“I was,” came the reply.

“Liar,” Ignis retorted, calmly, before he resumed his progress and made his way smoothly to the sound of Gladio's voice.

“Like you can tell,” Gladio answered back, and Ignis's smile widened ever so slightly to hear Gladio try to call him out on being blind, rather than try to talk around it, and the implications.

“I've never needed to see your face to know when you're lying, Gladiolus.”

“Whoops,” Gladio replied, amusement dancing in his voice, and Ignis could picture his smile, that fond flash of teeth that made the skin wrinkle at the corner of his eyes, “the full name means I'm in trouble.”

Ignis reached his hand out, and found the warmth of Gladio's arm beneath his glove. “When aren't you?” he replied. The arm shifted, and Ignis felt the gentle press of Gladio's spread fingers against the small of his back.

The hand lingered there, and Ignis felt Gladio shift slightly, turning to fix his gaze beyond the windows again. “So what's your favourite back up plan?” he asked.

Ignis bowed his head, slightly. “We know from experience that moving trains are daemon magnets,” he answered, quietly. “They also rely upon the rails, which we can't be assured will be clear. Right now I would prefer to liberate an all-terrain vehicle, and the lights from the Regalia. With some maps, we may at least make it to Cartanica. This won't be the only military base between here and there, and Prompto would seem to have the Empire's master key, so we could stay supplied along the way.”

Gladio made a considering noise, the murmur deep in his throat. “What happens when we get to Cartanica?”

Ignis frowned and tipped his head downwards. He was, presently, trying not to consider that possibility. “We currently have no cause to believe there is any reason for their failure to retrieve us than our signal simply not reaching them,” he had to keep that in mind, or despair might threaten to engulf them all. They didn't know how Lucis had fared in their absence; the nights had been encroaching there too, and with it the daemons. “So we attempt to make contact again.”

Footsteps approached, slowly, from the transmission room, and Ignis took a small step backwards. Gladio's hand fell from his back slowly as the man turned. “I changed the radio message,” Prompto said. “Just to let anyone know we're still here, and didn't leave already with the old message still playing.”

“A good idea,” Ignis said, with a slight nod. If there really was no response after that, then it would be a fair surmise that Gralea truly was a city of nought but daemons now. It would lighten the burden on their collective conscience, and on Prompto's in particular.

“Still nothing on any rescue, though,” Prompto said, his voice slow, and hesitant, as if he didn't want to break that bad news again.

“We no longer expect there will be,” Ignis said. He flashed a small smile at Gladio before he stepped away, towards Prompto. “Now, Gladio is going to keep watch over the city. I require you to go through one of these computers for me. I want every map of every military asset on this continent.”

There were a lot of maps. Some were small, and some were larger, and they were hidden behind codenames and project names, some of which were locked out even to the terminals in the command centre. They found more information on the scourge, and the various daemons the empire had created and where they had been deployed. Things seemed to have gone suspiciously quiet after the destruction of Tenebrae, but that only made sense; it was the last attack the Empire had made anywhere that they knew of. A last gasp at vengeance, punishing Ravus for his infractions against the Empire, as if he hadn't suffered enough already.

They printed the maps off, and the predictable mechanical whirr and snap of the printer permeated the air. “Anything, big guy?” Prompto asked, enough hope in his voice to make Ignis's heart ache for him.

“Sorry,” Gladio said, “not a thing.”

The printer spat out its last page and they were preparing to leave when Ignis heard it. Faint, at the edge of his perception, but he was as convinced of his senses as he had been when he'd heard Noct's voice in the eerie quiet of the Keep. He stopped, and held his arm out, one finger upwards as he turned his head, trying to hone in on the source. The other two stopped, the rustle of papers falling silent.

Stillness descended over the room, and Ignis turned, slowly, his ear following the noise, faint as it was. He heard it again, brief, muffled.

“Is that..?” Prompto began.

“The radio,” Ignis said. “Go.”

Prompto's feet thudded on the carpet, and Ignis was sure he heard the boy, papers still in hand, vault a terminal, landing with a thump that turned into more pounding footsteps before he hit the door to the transmission room. Gladio's hand fell across Ignis's back, and Ignis let Gladio steer him, guiding him between the arrayed rows of workstations towards the door.

There was the sound of a hand on a door, and then the faint creak of hinges, but Ignis ignored that in favour of the faint, broken transmission coming through on the radio. “--glad to hear yo-- --ice.” The transmission crackled, the reception poor, but it was, unmistakably, Aranea.

“Not as glad as we are to hear yours,” Prompto replied.

“Have you-- – casualties?” Aranea asked, static cutting out some of her words, but it was still clear enough what she was asking.

There was a click as Prompto pushed a button to reply. “No,” he said, “we're fine. You're breaking up, we can barely hear you.”

There was an almost considered silence from the radio for a few moments, and then Aranea's voice came through, clearly, and beautifully, saying the best thing they'd heard in weeks: “Sit tight. I'm a couple of hours away.”

“Nice work,” Gladio said, and Ignis heard the rustle of clothing and the faint thud of a closed hand planting firmly against something like a shoulder.

“It was Iggy's idea,” Prompto answered, and Ignis heard what sounded like someone rubbing at a shoulder that had just received a friendly punch.

“One we could not have executed without you,” Ignis replied.

They made use of the time until Aranea arrived, the distinctive sound of a Magitek engine reaching Ignis's ears before those of Gladio or Prompto. The maps of the Imperial bases were not a wasted effort; they would still contain resources that may be of use to Lucis. Imperial drop ships would move people and resources far more efficiently than roads, fuel would be a valuable resource, food, and the storage thereof would need to be considered.

As well as all the Empire knew, or had known, about the scourge, and the daemons. The bases would contain weapons, too, and with the darkness encroaching on all of Eos, enough weapons to supply an army was going to be of vital importance.

They made their way down and out of the command centre, and met Aranea's ship in the yard. Her boots clicked an unfamiliar gait across the concrete as she approached, and then she said, “You're one down. Again.” Ignis could practically hear her thoughts, just as he could hear the discomfort of Gladio and Prompto under what must have been a scrutinising gaze, before she asked, “Where's your prince?”

“With the Crystal,” Ignis answered.

“Then let's go get him and get out of here,” Aranea replied, but it sounded like a challenge, as if she could see in their faces that there was more to the explanation than merely that Noctis was safely sat with the Crystal in its holding pen, awaiting rescue.

“When I say he is _with_ the Crystal,” Ignis said, “I mean that the Crystal has him.”

There was a silence. Ignis could hear the heavy footsteps of a daemon prowling somewhere nearby, but it didn't cover the sound of Aranea's stance shifting, the tap of her shoes, and the brush of her arms against each other.

“It sucked him in,” Gladio said, his voice gruff, irritation coming through at the reminder. “He got to it, and it sucked him in.”

“So he's dead,” Aranea said. It didn't sound like a question, and Ignis prepared to respond to her.

“No,” Prompto said, his voice firm, and faith in Noct unwavering. “He's not dead.”

Ignis gave a nod. “Arch-chancellor Izunia plans to meet him in Insomnia. He may have toyed with us all, but he's kept us all alive up to now. We have no reason to believe he's done with us yet. We need to bring the Crystal to a place of safety for when Noct emerges.”

Aranea gave a short, considered murmur. “That sounds like him,” she said, eventually. “He's always had his own agenda.” She spoke thoughtfully, and then her tone shifted into one that was used to command, “Let's get the hell out of here, and we can come back when we've got a few more people. I'm running a skeleton crew; I'm not manned for breaking the Crystal out of there.”

There was the scuff of boots on the floor as Aranea turned, and then Gladio's hand fell to Ignis's back, urging him gently, irresistibly forwards once more. He walked, listening to the sounds of the daemons prowling beyond the Keep.

“Can we wait just a little longer?” Prompto asked, suddenly, his voice hesitant.

“What for?” Aranea asked, blunt and to the point.

Prompto seemed to steel himself before he responded, simply, “We've been keeping watch for survivors.”

Aranea shifted again, her leather clothing creaking slightly, “How long have you been watching?”

It was Gladio that answered, “A week.” It was clear from Gladio's tone that he thought this was more than long enough, not because the search wasn't worth it, but because a week with no results meant that there _weren't_ any survivors to help.

There was a sigh in response. “Kid,” Aranea sounded sympathetic, but firm, “no one's surviving a week here, not without resources and training. It's a daemon pit out there.”

Ignis refrained from pointing out that it was rapidly becoming a daemon pit in here, too, but it was an undeniable, if uncomfortable fact. The daemons grew more populous. The fight against them was becoming harder, even for them. Untrained and insufficiently armed civilians stood no real chance of survival, and any that did had been here for far longer than themselves, and were likely affected by the scourge by now.

“There's light,” Prompto pressed. “While there's light, there's a chance.”

Gladio's hand brushed up Ignis's back and to his shoulder as Aranea sighed again. “We'll do a flyover,” she conceded.

Their footsteps changed from the dull thud of boots on concrete to the echoing clang of their feet on metal. The vibration travelled through Ignis's shoes and up his legs, so he could feel the noise as well as hear it. Gladio urged him softly towards a seat; he remembered the benches along the metal walls of the ship, and found it with the back of his legs before he sat. The air moved as Gladio took a seat next to him, and his warmth radiated into Ignis's side, in contrast with the cold metal of the ship's interior.

“So, where we headed?” Gladio asked. Ignis felt him shift, so he was leaning back against the wall, his hand lingering at the back of Ignis's shoulder even though they were both sat down.

“Lestallum, for now,” Aranea answered. Ignis heard her walk right in to the back of the ship. “There's only a couple of hours of good daylight left each day, and it's getting shorter. It's not enough to keep the daemons at bay. Anywhere too small to protect itself is being evacuated.” There was a click, and a buzz as she pressed something, and then said, “We're going to do a flyover of the city. Check for survivors.”

“Right you are,” came the reply. Ignis couldn't help but smile at the sound of Bigg's voice; it was heartening to know they'd made it back safely.

“What about Caem?” Gladio asked. His voice was calm, but Ignis knew immediately where his thoughts had gone. Iris had been there, and while daemons hadn't ventured close when they'd last visited, Caem lacked the bright border lighting provided by Exineris. In a world of darkness it would quickly become vulnerable.

“Don't worry,” Aranea said, the sound of the ship's engine firing up for takeoff nearly drowning her out, but there was a smile in her tone. “Your sister's a tough cookie. She was helping with the refugee settlement programme in Lestallum when I left.” Ignis felt Gladio settle a little, a tenseness leaving him that Ignis only noticed by its absence. “Cor is setting up a hunter's camp in Old Lestallum, and Cid is working on the Lighthouse in Caem.”

Ignis murmured, partly to himself. “Planning for the long term,” he said. Keeping Caem open and functioning would invariably be helpful. Daemons didn't tend to manifest at sea, which meant that fish, provided they could transport it, would be a reliable source of food, and Caem had the surrounding lands, which could be pressed into use as farmland. There weren't many crops that could be forced to grow without light, and it altered their taste to do so, but there were some; rhubarb, chicory, mushrooms of course, and white asparagus.

The ship gave a gentle lurch. Ignis felt his insides drop, giving him the distinct sensation that he was rising. The ship's engine gave a louder whine with the movement, and then quieted to a persistent hum.

“We didn't know how long it might take to bring back the light,” Aranea said. “We still don't,” she pointed out.

“Quite right,” Ignis agreed, softly. “Are all the refugees being taken to Lestallum?” he asked.

Aranea gave a murmur as the motion of the ship levelled off. “Not right now. We've got refugee camps set up at Galdin, Taelpar, Hammerhead, and the Chocobo Post. It's more than they can handle, but there's no choice. We're taking more in Lestallum as we get people processed and housed, but it's slow, and there won't be a place for everyone.”

“What of Altissia?” Ignis asked. The ship banked, gently, and inertia pulled him into Gladio's side as it moved.

Aranea gave a snort of laughter. “They've got their own problems. The Tidemother did a number on the city; some of its uninhabitable, and there are daemons spreading through the rest. They've got their own hunters, so they can manage, but they can't help us right now.” There was a pause before Aranea added, a little more quietly, “They took in about half the people we rescued from Tenebrae, and they couldn't really afford to take them. It's a bad situation all over. The sooner your prince comes back, the better.”

“We couldn't agree more,” Ignis answered, and felt the gentle tightening of Gladio's arm around his back that was his concurrence.

“Down there!” Prompto cried. His excitement made his voice carry, his exclamation tearing into the growing sombreness of the mood within the ship without consideration or mercy. Gladio stood, leaving Ignis's side, and Ignis heard him walk towards Prompto, and the opening of the ship's ramp, designed for magitek troopers to jump from while airborne.

“I don't see anything,” he said, after a moment.

“I'm telling you,” Prompto insisted, “down there. There was a flash.”

“Probably a Red Giant's damn sword; the place is flooded with them.”

Aranea's footsteps were confident, and considered as she made her way towards the other two. “It wasn't that kind of light,” Prompto insisted. Ignis smiled softly to himself, able to picture the determined scowl on Prompto's face as he stood his ground.

“The streetlights reflecting off something, then,” Gladio replied. “Don't get your hopes up.”

“The kid's right,” Aranea said. “Ten o'clock, third floor of the second building.”

Ignis held his breath in the silence, until he heard Gladio say, quietly, “Shit.”

Aranea's stride was confident as she made her way back again, and she pressed the intercom once more. “Take us down at the edge of the residential district,” she said, “it looks like there are survivors.”

There was a silence from the other end of the intercom in which Ignis imagined Biggs and Wedge having a frantic discussion about this news before the reply came, “Yes, ma'am.”

The ship banked again, and Ignis felt his stomach rising in his abdomen as they lost height. Heavy feet made their way over towards him, hurried a little with the downhill nature of the movement, but Gladio didn't retake his seat. “The place is gonna be crawling with daemons,” he said.

“Hope you're ready for a fight,” Aranea said, almost conversationally.

The ship turned, and Ignis felt Gladio's hand brush against his shoulder as he steadied himself against the ship's inner wall. “I don't suppose I could convince you to stay here?” he asked, quietly.

Ignis breathed in and tilted his head back, so that he was facing Gladio, and facing where his voice was coming from in particular. “Since I tend to hear daemons before you see them, no, you couldn't.” He afforded Gladio a smile regardless before he conceded, “Though I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Worth a shot,” Gladio muttered. “Promise me something, will you?”

“That I won't die?”

There was a split second before Gladio adjusted his request, “Promise me two things?” Ignis smiled warmly, and waited. “That you won't die, and that when we get back to Lestallum you're going to start training again.”

“I was planning to do that anyway,” Ignis replied.

“Yeah,” Gladio agreed, “ _before_ you go fighting anything else.”

Ignis heard the plea for what it was; the statement that underpinned it. _Don't make me watch you die_ , and how it was morphing, in this increasingly dangerous reality, into _make sure you're ready for what we're going to face_. “Of course,” Ignis answered.

There was a bump, and Ignis's stomach dropped back into its usual place as the ship came to rest. “I'll take point,” Aranea said, striding forward, her footfalls reverberating through the metal. “Keep your wits about you,” she warned. “We want to be in and out.”

“Right,” Prompto said, and Ignis heard him falling into line behind Aranea.

Ignis rose, and stilled as Gladio's hand took his wrist. He opened his hand to find his stick pressed carefully in against his palm, and then Gladio's hand reluctantly fell away again. Ignis gave a small nod of thanks, and then started forwards, following the sound and the vibration of the other's footsteps. Gladio's echoed behind him.

The ramp of the ship led down, and then the metal became concrete, their footsteps duller, but less likely to attract attention. Ignis could hear the difference in step between Aranea's heeled boots, and Prompto's sturdier Crownsguard issued ones. He held his stick ahead of himself, hovering just off the ground so it would alert him to changes in the terrain, but the ground was flat, and even. Gladio's footsteps lingered a step or two behind him.

The city echoed with the distant groans of daemons. They'd been stranded at a haven, once, when an Iron Giant had erupted from the ground nearby with the unsettling creak of straining metal and the bubbling sound of the black miasma welling up. None of them had really slept that night, knowing that the haven would keep them safe, but unable to rest with such danger so near. Ignis had given up trying to sleep, and watched the shifting shadow in the night from the safety of the fireside, Gladio nearby, on high alert with his greatsword in hand.

He'd been disturbed then to listen to the daemon creak and groan as it paced, aware that there was something near but unable to locate them. It sounded, at points, as if the daemon was trying to talk. It champed, and muttered, and there was no sense in it, but it had seemed back then as if there was more to the noise than mere animalistic chattering.

Here in Gralea, the noise almost sounded like a conversation. Somewhere to the distant right a Red Giant made some indecipherable decree to the sky, and it was answered by a different voice making a similar noise a little further away still. To their left, closer, was the chitter and giggle of a cadre of goblins, running back and forth like children playing a game.

Perhaps they _were_ children, or had been. Gralea's children, infected by the starscourge, fallen to the ambitions of a crazed Emperor and an uncaring research and development division. Ignis recalled the goblins in the Balouve mines; how they'd toyed and played with them, pushing carts, and activating fans to scare them, how the ones in Keycatrich Trench had rattled doors and hidden in a well to jump out at the unwary.

Ignis felt suddenly sick. They were people. Every daemon they'd ever defeated had been a living person, once. Death was their only chance at release, so they owed it to those people to help them, just as they owed it to these people they were now trying to save to extend the hand of aid.

“You okay?” Gladio asked, his voice low. “You hear something?”

Ignis swallowed, and pushed the thoughts away. They weren't helpful, not right now, and perhaps not ever. There weren't enough of them to offer respite to every daemon the world now held, or would hold. “Goblins,” he said, “to the left, a block away. A Giant further away to the right.” He frowned, and turned his head slightly. “There's something else up ahead, but we're not close enough for me to discern what.”

The sounds merged, ahead. Some were fainter, some were not, but the city was rife with daemons, and there was a lot of the city ahead of them. They turned from one wide street to a narrower one, dispatching a group of goblins as efficiently as they could before they continued on. Ignis could hear the change in the noise of their footsteps echoing off the sides of buildings, counting, one, then two streets passed before he stopped, and hissed, “Wait!”

There was the sound of Prompto checking the barrel of his gun, but the faint echo of footfalls died away, replaced with the mangled din of daemons in the city, and a tickle of magic at the edge of his senses. “Cryonades,” he said, “down the next street.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Aranea said. Bomb daemons could be difficult, more difficult even than the likes of Giants due to their tendency to explode, and be replaced by yet more of their kind. They had to be taken out quickly, in an organised fashion, and magic undoubtedly worked better than mere weapons.

They crept to the edge of the street. It wouldn't serve to attract too much attention here; if they made too much of a commotion, it would alert other daemons to their presence, and more and more would come to replace their fallen kind. “Five,” Aranea counted. “One each, and someone gets seconds.”

“Works for me,” Gladio replied. He turned his head a little, his voice aimed to the side of Ignis, at Prompto, when he said, “You hang back and watch for any getting bigger; a good hit usually stops them.”

“Right,” Prompto replied.

“And keep an eye on Iggy.”

Ignis frowned, preparing to point out to Gladio that, of all of them, he was the only one magically inclined enough to hit them where it hurt, but instead it was Aranea that spoke up, “I think he can take care of himself. Come on.”

She headed in to the street, her steps hurried, but not a run, and Gladio hefted his greatsword and followed her. Ignis felt the magic rise in the environment as the Bombs noticed them, and moved to meet them. They gabbled nonsensically as they did, and Ignis closed his eyes and concentrated.

Five of them. That sound of metal thunking into one and the outraged noise it made was Gladio. Aranea huffed as she swung her lance, producing a different metallic sound as she hit. Prompto's gun temporarily deafened Ignis, the shot ringing in his ears, but he could still hear the following thunk of Gladio's sword against a Bomb's body.

One of the Bombs lingered at the back, and Ignis felt the magical surge building from it. “Watch out!” He drew his arm back, pulling on his own magic; fire had always come the most readily to him anyway, and he hurled it at the one that stood out most in his senses. There was the sound of an explosion, and flames, and the swelling ice magic dissipated but didn't disappear.

“That's our Iggy!”

Ignis allowed himself a smile at the praise, and listened to the rest of the fight. Prompto was shooting rapidly at one, Gladio was nearly finished with the one he'd been attacking, and there was a huff and then a breath of wind as Aranea jumped. Ignis called his dagger into his hand as he felt the one he'd burned make a beeline for him.

Elementally inclined enemies were easier than large ones. He could feel them. It wasn't like sight; it wasn't anything like vision, but he could follow their movement across the battlefield with the same certainty that he could draw his daggers. He wasn't merely listening, and interpreting the sound; there was another sense they bounced off.

He struck with his dagger as it got closer, and held a defensive stance as he waited for it to come into range again. It made a noise at him, not a roar, but a garbled shout, and came forwards again. He met it with another slash of his dagger, feeling the way the metal edge cut in to the daemonic body, and then he stabbed at it.

“Iggy!” Ignis didn't need Gladio's warning to sense the other one that was heading for him, too. Perhaps they sensed his magic just as he sensed theirs? It would certainly mark him as a more immediate threat, if these daemons had enough of a mind to think about it.

Or perhaps they had simply decided he was the weakest of the four. It still predicated some degree of thought going on.

He dropped his stick and called his other dagger, giving a hard slash to the one closest to him before he took a step back and split his attention. Aranea landed from her jump, and the presence of one of the Cryonades faded away in his senses. Prompto was still furiously shooting away at a second, and Gladio gave a heavy strike at the third.

Ignis struck at the new one. It was stronger than the one he'd been fighting; untouched, or perhaps it had grown unhindered while they were occupied. His dagger landed a glancing blow across it, and he felt the magic in it swell as it strained to grow again.

He caught that the first one was moving too late, and the blow caught him in the shoulder, making him stagger sideways. He regained his balance, slashed, and missed.

“Prompto, _wake up!_ ” Gladio bellowed, urgency and anger in his tone.

Ignis grit his teeth. He couldn't be reduced to flailing blindly; that was a surefire way to die. Instead he bowed his head, and concentrated. He could feel where the two Bombs were, almost side by side, one larger than the other, and about to get larger still. He changed his grip on his dagger and threw it, aiming for the largest mass of magic, and then threw himself backwards, over, onto his hands. He'd done this so many times; he didn't need to see to be able to do it. Muscle memory alone would serve for it, so long as he didn't try to overthink it.

He bounced back, landing a little harder than he'd have liked, a sharp pain lancing through his right knee, but he ignored it. He called on his magic again, gathering it into his hand, as much and as fast as he could, but not so fast that he risked loss of control. The Cryonades started to advance on him again, and he let the fireball fly.

It exploded, covering the ice magic with fire for a moment, and when it died back, only one remained. There was a ringing shot from Ignis's right, and then the sound of a heavy sword clashed down on top of it, and it faded away.

“You okay?” 

Ignis turned towards Aranea. “I'm fine,” he answered. “We should move, before others appear.”

“Come on then,” she said, turning away from him. “Two more blocks.”

Ignis took a second to pick his foot up, flexing his knee. He winced as a sharp pain shot through the joint.

“Were you hurt?”Gladio's voice was low, and close, and Ignis turned to face him. He wondered what expression he was wearing. Fear? Annoyance? He didn't sound either of those things; he sounded softly concerned. Somehow, that was worse.

“Not my best landing,” he said, “that's all.”

“Ignis,” Gladio said, hesitating, “just then--”

“I just need to train,” he said, not wanting to have this argument here, now, or with this audience.

“You were incredible,” Gladio said, and Ignis found himself caught short. “Yeah, you need to train, but,” there was a sound that put Ignis strongly in mind of Gladio scratching the back of his neck, “that was still pretty good.”

Ignis remained in stunned silence for a moment, and then Gladio added, “And kinda hot.”

Ignis considered that for a moment, and then furrowed his brow and frowned. “I can't see your face to know if you mean that as a pun or not.”

Gladio laughed, a low, almost dirty sounding chuckle, and then his arm wound its way across Ignis's back and guided him forwards. Prompto's light, hurried footsteps caught up to them and he said, “Uh, your stick?”

“Thank you,” Ignis said, holding his hand out for it. The familiar weight was pressed against his palm, and he closed his fingers around it.

They walked forwards, following the sound of Aranea's footsteps, until she took them to a building. “It came from here,” she said.

“It's all lit up,” Prompto said. “Do you think they're okay?”

“They won't be if they stay here much longer,” Aranea answered.

Ignis turned his head. There was the telltale bubbling sound, and rending metal that indicated one of the Giant types of daemon was putting in an appearance nearby. “We have to move.”

Gladio's arm left his back as Gladio approached the door. The handle creaked a little as it turned, and there was the faint scrape of the metal catch caught against its housing. The door opened, letting the still, lived in air of the building out onto the street.

“Anybody here?” Prompto called, as he stepped inside. Ignis's stick caught against the doorframe, and he traced it upwards until he found the lip, and stepped over, and in, smoothly, following the sound of Prompto.

“What would you do if they said no?” Gladio asked.

“I'd know they were lying,” Prompto replied, cheerily. “We saw your signal!” he called, cupping his hands around his mouth, muffling the sound slightly to Ignis's ears, but directing it upwards more effectively. “We're here to get you out!”

There was a noise, like a door shutting, or perhaps something being pushed against a door suddenly. It pierced the silence, and was their only reply.

“Upstairs,” Aranea said. “That flash was coming from the third floor.”

They traipsed upwards, Ignis finding the edge of each step with his toes first before he was accustomed to the height and length of them. Up one flight, and past a smell that suggested something, or someone, had died in the vicinity, around a corner, and another corner, and up another flight. The air here was stale, lived in, like the smell of the dormitory they'd been using. Three men in a confined space had created that odour. This building was larger. How many people had it taken to produce that same smell here? How many still survived?

There was sound coming from one end of the corridor when they reached the third floor, and Ignis turned towards it. Prompto brushed gently past him, and pressed ahead.

“We're here to get you out,” Prompto said, not yelling, but loudly enough to be heard through a closed door. There was a hurried muttering on the other side of the door, as if a frantic discussion was going on beyond it. “Can you open the door?” Prompto asked.

The muttering on the other side increased in urgency and intensity. Someone clearly didn't think opening the door was a good idea.

“Enough of this,” Aranea muttered. “This is Commodore Aranea Highwind,” she called, “open this door or you can stay here with the daemons!”

The muttering on the other side of the door fell silent. There was another exchange, and this time Ignis could make out the words ' _go on_ '. A heartbeat later the door opened, slowly. Ignis heard Gladio shift his weight, and he folded his own hands over his stick, aware that there was likely a scrutinising gaze falling over them, one by one.

It was Prompto who spoke first. “You heard us on the radio,” he said. “We saw your signal.”

“How many are in there?” Aranea asked. Her voice wasn't unkind, but she also wasn't taking the time for Prompto's softly softly approach.

“My sister,” came a female voice, one that had clearly done more than its share of crying lately, “our children. Five, total.”

“Anyone else in the building?”

There was silence, but Ignis suspected it was filled with a shaking head from what followed. “My husband and the others said they were going to get help. We told them not to break the curfew, but we were desperate.” There was desperation in the voice as the woman pleaded, “Please, have you found them?”

Ignis heard Aranea shift, and turn. The silence lingered a moment too long, containing all the answer they had as to the whereabouts of the woman's husband. “Let's get you out of here, before the daemons find their way in,” she said.

The children were young. One of the women, who gave her name as Una, carried one of them, a boy, barely older than toddling from his unsteady footsteps before he was picked up. She was taciturn, and Ignis couldn't be sure whether it was through distrust or trauma that she spoke so little. She held her child close to her, and stayed near her sister, Maia, as she carried a young boy herself, his footsteps surer, but slower, and was trailed after by a girl, small feet making hurried steps after an adult stride.

Gladio and Aranea led the front. Ignis, his knee still pricking its warning against further attempts at acrobatics tonight, kept the rear, with Prompto.

“That's not your average Giant,” Aranea hissed, when they reached the door to the street. Ignis could hear the pounding footsteps of the Giant beyond, and frowned. Giants, when they appeared, tended to lurk within a particular area. It was unlikely this one would conveniently decide to wander off.

“It's a Ganymede,” Gladio muttered, and Ignis felt his chest tighten at the words.

“How close?” he asked. They wanted to avoid fighting the Giant types if they could anyway; warping and the Armiger made short work of them, but without Noct, they'd be a much greater challenge. A Ganymede, one of the rarest and most resilient of the Giants they'd encountered before, had been a challenge even then. It certainly wasn't something they wanted to try and take on with non-combatants under escort to consider.

“Too close,” Gladio answered, unhelpfully.

“I gathered that,” Ignis replied.

“Other end of the street,” Gladio amended, “but it keeps looking back this way.”

Ignis considered their options, the majority of which boiled down to _run like hell_. “I don't normally advocate running,” Aranea said, as if she was reading his mind, “but I don't like the risk to reward ratio on this one.”

“Prompto, do you have any starshells?” Ignis asked, his attention turned towards the boy. The Ganymede outside moved, and its footsteps made the ground shake as it drew closer.

“Yeah,” Prompto ventured, warily.

“Good,” Ignis said. “When it moves away, we go, and I want you to take up the rear. The moment it begins to turn towards us, I want you to shoot, and aim for its face.”

A furious and hurried whispering sprang up between their charges, and the unmistakable words, “Look at him, he's _blind_ ,” were in the midst of it.

“Hey,” Gladio interrupted, irritation in his voice, and Ignis could hear how his voice came from higher up as he drew himself to his full six feet and six inches of domineering presence.

Ignis inhaled sharply through his nose. “Out there,” he said, his voice clipped and precise, “is a daemon approximately nineteen feet tall, and nine and a half tonnes in weight, that appears so rarely there has only been a single recorded successful hunt.” He turned his attention towards Una, the one that had been making the most whispered protest, “Which so happened to be undertaken by us. Blind or not, we know what we're dealing with.”

The silence that came in response was embarrassed, and there was the sound of a child's feet shuffling. “You're in the safest hands possible,” Ignis said, firmly. “Now, Gladio, on your signal, we run.”

Ignis could all but feel Gladio's pride and amusement at his response, but the mood shifted to one of concentration and militaristic focus as the Ganymede outside moved again. The footsteps made the ground tremble, but it trembled less with each, and the heavy thud grew faintly quieter.

“Now,” Gladio hissed.

All at once they sprang into action. The children whimpered, on the verge of tears, but were carried and dragged along by their mothers before they had a chance to start to bawl. Ignis followed after them, chasing the sound of Aranea's heeled boots on the concrete. The Ganymede behind them creaked as it moved, and then he heard Prompto shoot his flare, and cry, “Go, go, go!”

A hand pressed, barely, against Ignis's back, and Prompto said, “Keep going straight ahead,” the words broken by the bounce of his feet against the floor and the jolt that sent through his body. Ignis didn't spare the breath to reply. The Ganymede wasn't following, yet, but its angry cries filled the air and drowned out the calls of other daemons around them.

Prompto guided him, right, and then left, and then right again. He heard the racing feet on concrete become racing feet on metal as the others, just ahead, reached the ship, and followed himself. His ringing footfalls signalled safety, and he stopped a few paces in to catch his breath. Gladio was panting nearby, and the women and their children cried, high pitched wails of fear, or relief, or both, Ignis didn't know.

There was a thud as something landed heavily on the metal floor, and then Prompto's voice came from that direction, “Let's never do that again?”

Gladio snorted, “Next time we'll just fight it, then.”

The ship's engine fired up, and started to move before the doors began to close. Ignis listened to Aranea as she walked, sedately, over to the sobbing women, and he could hear the faint creak of leather as she knelt down. “It's all right,” she said, rather gently, “you made it.”

“Where are you taking us?” Ignis recognised the voice as Maia, thick with tears and fighting for breath. It sounded as if her children were crying into her breast, huddled against her. Una, and her son, made for a quieter pair close by; the mother's sobs muffled. Ignis pictured her sobbing into her child's hair.

“Lestallum,” Aranea answered. “It's the safest place there is, for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this marks the first time in nigh a decade that I have completd a multi-chapter work.
> 
> Thank you everyone for sticking through it, kudosing, commenting, and so on. It's kept me going even when this fic started to kick my ass.
> 
> Special thanks to everyone that's been commenting so far for being my little cheerleader crew.

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks to the Chill XV crowd, especially Sauronix, Banjkazfan, Mahbecks, KuraNova, Faygomayhem, and Waywardmelody, who have, whether they've realised it or not, helped me work out both where I want to take this story, and how I want to take it there.


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